


The Christmas Present

by doctoraicha



Category: Georgette Heyer - These Old Shades
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:53:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctoraicha/pseuds/doctoraicha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Duke and Duchess of Avon repair to their country estate for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Present

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jay Tryfanstone](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jay+Tryfanstone).



> A Yuletide Gift

Christmas Presents  
A Yuletide Gift based on Georgette Heyer's These Old Shades.

 

Léonie, Duchess of Avon, swept up the steps to her sister in law's door. It opened before her, and the butler bowed low.

She was already taking off her hat when his low "Your Grace," reached her ears. Her gloves and cloak followed her hat into his arms.

"I do need you to announce me," she told him. "Fanny, she expects me this morning."

"Her ladyship is in the morning room, Your Grace," the very proper butler said.

He was rewarded with one of Her Grace's twinkling, mischievous smiles. "Me, I will announce myself." She hurrying precipitously into the room, and giving a footman only just enough time to get the door open before she took that task upon herself, too.

"Fanny!" she said, failing entirely to announce herself. She'd been married to Justin Alastair, His Grace of Avon, for well over six months, and his sister was a dear friend. Fanny's son John was playing on the carpet before the fire, whilst Fanny herself leaned against one corner of her sofa.

"Quite a crush last night, Léonie," Fanny said, one hand over her eyes. "I vow I will not go to Lady Dalrymple's if she continues to insist upon inviting the entire ton."

"Bah! There were far more people at your ball last week, n'est-ce pas, and it was a far greater crush," Léonie told her.

Fanny brightened. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Me, I did not come to you to talk of the party. Monseigneur is gone to Avon on some business or other and I could not go before the week-end. Me, I am bored," she announced, settling into a chair. "I wish to buy Monseigneur's Christmas presents before I leave, and I do not wish to go alone," she said.

Fanny immediately rose in obvious agreement and delight. "My dear, you flatter me! But will you not take a little refreshment whilst I ready myself?"

Léonie looked a bit green at the thought. "I do not eat before evening these days," she decreed. "Voyons! These late nights and crushing routs, they make me unable to eat."

Fanny narrowed her eyes slightly, and shrugged. Surely…? But they had been married half a year! Fanny smiled to herself. Obviously Léonie didn't wish it widely known just yet, so she didn't mention it. The duchess had as fiery a temper as her hair suggested and did not take it well when her will was crossed.

Their shopping excursion was very successful, and Léonie's packages were bundled into the wagon containing her travelling trunks and some of the furniture that always made the trip with her to Avon. Léonie preferred town, but Avon must occasionally attend to his estate in person, and she preferred wherever he was over staying to their house in town alone. It was near Christmas, however, and everyone was gone or going to their country estates. There was now nothing attractive about London, and everything attractive about Avon.

*****

An impeccably dressed man stood – almost coldly, if it is possible to stand so – at the entry of the estate to greet her. A footman opened the carriage door, and Léonie threw herself into his arms almost from the steps of the carriage.

"Monseigneur!" she cried. "Town was flat without you."

"I'm very glad to have you with me at Avon, infant," the man said, all coldness of manner gone, but with an odd expression in his eyes as they fixed upon her.

They entered the library together, where a light tea awaited Her Grace, and a snifter of French brandy awaited Avon. The Duke eyes his young bride, who was busily telling him of all the Christmas presents she'd purchased for all his connection and hers.

"I do not think I will tell you about your own presents, Monseigneurr. Me, I can keep a secret," she announced.

"Indeed?" he asked, with a twinkle of irony in his eye.

"You deny me, vraiment! You will see," she avowed, examining her hand. "You shall not know your presents until Christmas night."

"As is proper," he said. "Will Fanny and Marling be down with young John for Christmas? Rupert comes."

"Oh no, not them. They are going to Marling's estate. John, he is a boring child, n'est-ce pas?"

Avon smiled. "He's a perfect little gentleman, though he's not yet 5. Marlin's spawn through, I should say. He's not much an Alastair, I don't think." Léonie rose, intending to freshen her toilet after the long drive. Avon rose as well, and put a hand to her waist.

Léonie looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Should you like to have a son such as that?"

"A gentleman, yes, but I should like him to be mine, if you please," he answered. "Satan's spawn. It will not be such a bore to have him in the house," he said, wrapping both arms around you.

Her color rose, and she stamped one tiny foot. "You shall not call our son spawn of Satan," she told him, with both hands on his chest. She smiled as well. "But he will be more than half French. He cannot be so boring and English as that John," she said.

"Ah, my dear, there you make your mistake. Our son will be all English, but not such a gentleman. He will be an English Marquis the day he is born. A nobleman."

Léonie rose on her toes and kissed him. "I do not think I will be bored with such a child as that, Monseignor. Shall we have one soon?"

"Sooner than you may think, mignonne," he replied.

*****

Some fortnight later, on Christmas morning, Avon rose from his wife's bed and slipped into the dressing chamber that separated her room from his. He heard her call almost frantically for her maid, and he stopped at the door to his room. He heard his wife retch, and he frowned slightly as he went through to his room. It was happening almost daily, and he knew the cause, even if she herself was as yet unaware of the reason for her illness.

At the breakfast table an hour later, he noted that Léonie took only toast and a bit of salmon, and very weak tea. "Are you well, my dear?"

She nodded. "Yes, of course. Something I ate yesterday has upset my stomach."

After breakfast, however, he sat with her in her morning parlor and asked, "My dear, do you realize that you may be enceinte?

Léonie's eyes widened as she rapidly took in the implications of his suggestion. "But Monseigneur, you are right! En fin, it is of course the answer! I did not think of it. I cannot think why. Are you happy with me?"

"I'm always happy with you, infant. But this will be difficult, and I am sorry. You seemed quite sick this morning."

"Bah! That is nothing. Monseigneur, he will have his heir, and I will have my not so boring son, after all."

"And if the child is a girl?"

Léonie smiled. "Then we will not switch her at birth for the son of a paysan, and we will watch her that she does not make a mésalliance. But this one," she said, cradling her stomach, "will be un fils."

*****

Léonie's pregnancy was a very difficult one. She was sick the entire time, morning, noon, and night; she spent the last three months in bed at Avon, under strict orders not to do anything. Avon stayed almost by her side, and with his iron will and her determination, the pregnancy came to a happy conclusion. She had her son, and Avon had his heir.

"You shall not do that again, mignonne," Avon told her two days after her birth. Léonie was lying in her bed, with her son Dominic in her arms. "You have your son, and I have you, and we shall not chance that for another child. I shall not take such a risk with you again. I love you too well for that."

Léonie could but nod her assent. She stretched a hand to him. "This one, he is strong and healthy, and we do not need another," she said, satisfied. "Je t'aime, Monseigneur."


End file.
